


hold on to what we are.

by ProjectFYERBIRD



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Kidnapping, Other, Slow Burn, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:17:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectFYERBIRD/pseuds/ProjectFYERBIRD
Summary: title taken from 'your bones' by of monsters and men. cross posted from my tumblr, lesbian-windblade. updates whenever i get a request for another part there, so head on over if you want some more.ficlet series depicting the relationship between the reader and knock out. starts off with the decepticon medic kidnapping the reader after causing their engine to overheat in an illegal street race.





	1. the long way down.

Your rig belches out white smoke from beneath its hood, and a litany of swears fall from your lips as you splash down into the muddy ditch. “Son of a  _bitch_ ,” you snarl, “shit, shit, shit,  _fuck_.”

The grass is slick and the water cold as it soaks into your shoes, and you  _try_ not to grit your teeth when you hear the purr of the engine belonging to asshole that made you blow your cylinder head gasket and leak coolant and water all over your engine. “Hey, jackass,” you great with a voice that drips false cheer and venom. “Come to gloat?” There’s no answer from whoever drives the red Aston Martin.

“You’re lucky you have a nice ass car or I’d fucking key it, I swear to God.”

You roll your eyes and return to your car, popping the hood. Smoke and burnt sweet smell spill out and you cough, waving your hand in front of your face. There’s a sound behind you that you pointedly ignore because you really don’t want anything to do with the owner of the cherry red car. 

As it turns out you probably should have paid attention because then maybe you would have been slightly less surprised by the giant talking robot who used to be a car. You feel slightly less bad for losing the race now, because who the hell could win against something like  _that_.

“I’m not sure if that’s a threat or a compliment.” The robot says. Its voice is smooth and sounds exactly what you’d think a sports car would sound like.

“Dude, what the  _fuck_.”


	2. midnight decisions as a means to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is lesbian-windblade

Your head kind of hurts and you kind of don’t know where you are when you come to. But it’s humid and the ground under you is hard and sandy so you can only assume that you haven’t left Jasper yet. You’re probably on the outskirts of town, near the cliffs. In other words, very different from the grassy ditch your car had limped into. 

It’s still night, you realise when you open your eyes, because your vision is filled by the stars spreading over the dark canvas of the night sky. 

“Urgh,” you groan as you sit up, your stomach churning and your head swimming. “I’m … I’m - where the fuck am I?” You don’t really expect your question to be answered until is it. 

“Earth!” A voice you really didn’t want to hear ever again says jovially. “Right outside Jasper, Nevada.”

Your head whips to the right, eyes widening as you take it the giant robot from before. It’s unfortunate for you that he looks as nice as he does when he’s a robot as he is a car. And maybe it’s because you hit your head when he kidnapped you but you don’t quite realise what you’re saying in time to stop the words from leaving your mouth. “Why do you sound like a babe?” At least your voice nails that incredulous lilt. 

It’s made worse by how he  _laughs_ , like he’s rubbing salt into your wounded pride. “Oh, I  _like_ you,” he says, his voice a purr. He transforms back into that cherry Aston Martin and the passenger side door clicks open. “You’ll make an excellent assistant.” 

You hesitate, and wonder how far you’d get before getting squished if you made a run for it. You also wonder about what you have here in shitty little Jasper, Nevada, smack dab in the middle of a desert. A family you cut off after university, a dead end job, a handful of friends who don’t really care about you.

Against your better judgement, you slide in the passengers seat. 


	3. the saw in the glove compartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is lesbian-windblade

The door clicks shut and you do your best to ignore the sound of the lock engaging. The seat belt slides across your chest all by itself, pushing you back into the leather of his interior. It’s a little too tight but you don’t complain. Things could be worse. You could be a red gory smear on the asphalt. 

“Do try not to touch anything excessively,” he says, voice coming from all around you. The sharp, animalistic symbol on the center of his steering wheel flashes red in time with his voice. “I don’t want your organic oils on my interior.”

You roll your eyes but shove your knees together and fold your hands into your lap. It does wonders for hiding how they shake.

But for all that annoyance and anger your palms are still sweaty and you’re pretty sure that’s your own damn heartbeat in your ears. There’s a feeling of  _wrongness_  and  _danger_ in the air. Puny human instincts from way back when your kind still had their asses covered in fur and flung their own shit around shriek alarm bells. Your host, with his blatant disgust of your species, isn’t helping. 

A snide comment prickles just behind your teeth. You swallow it down. It tastes bitter, like bile. You fantasize about planting your mud caked and still kind of damp boot on his dash in a well aimed kick. Your leg actually gives a hearty twitch and his glove compartment opens to expose the serrated teeth of an electric saw.

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” he says, voice deadly sweet and dripping toxicity. Like a cyanide pill coated in honey.

“I might,” you sling back. Stubborn, misguided defiance burns in your eyes. Behind it swims uncertainty and stupid, stupid, fear.

You don’t.


	4. a real knock out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is lesbian-windblade

The Nevada desert landscape rolls by the window in a blur and you know you sure as hell aren’t going the speed limit. Forget fifty above, you’re probably just shy of hundred above the speed limit.

It’s after half an hour of this that you realise something.   
  
“Do you have like, a name?”

“You can call me Knock Out. Or Doctor.” 

You highly doubt that this man has ever been to any type of medical school, but you keep your mouth shut. He also doesn’t say anything else after that. “You see,” you say, “this is the part where you ask my name because that’s usually what basic decency and manners dictate.”

“Oh, fleshy, I really don’t care.”

“It’s Y/N, by the way.”

If you didn’t value having your foot attached to your body, you’d follow up on that fantasy of slamming your muddy combat boot against his dash in a good kick. So far the only thing this ‘Knock Out’ has going for him is that he’s attractive and has a nice voice and -  _why are you even thinking that what is your problem._

“Whatever. Where are we even going anyway?” 

The moment the words leave your lips a portal of swirling blues and greens and purples opens up before you and Knock Out in the middle of the dirt road. Your eyes widen and your mouth opens into a small ‘o,’ in a wordless gesture of ‘oh  _shit_.’ A nervous smile graces your lips as you stare right at it. 

Knock Out’s interior shifts around you until you’re dumped out into his palm. His digits are sharp and poke uncomfortably into your skin, leaving you wincing as they catch on your clothes. But you’re more distracted by the way it feels like your bones are vibrating as you pass through the portal and exit out of it onto what can only be the bridge of some alien warship.

His voice is a smug purr in your ears and you  _hate_ it. 

“Welcome to the _Nemesis_ , fleshy.”


	5. welcome to hell! welcome to hell! welcome to hell!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is lesbian-windblade

Your brain positively shits itself the moment you realise what kind of fresh hell you just stepped into. You swallow the pathetic noise and the bile that threatens to creep up your throat. You’re used to getting yourself into messes and getting yourself out of them, more importantly, but this time you think you’re well and truly fucked. That’s it. No fancy words. You’re just fucked.

You’re also quite aware of the pair you make. You try to ignore the way multiple sets of eyes - or is it optics? - prickle at the back of your neck. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it, Knock Out,” a voice like a razor scraping down your spine says from behind you. You can  _hear_ the sneering smirk in his voice when he speaks. “I thought you wouldn’t want all those . . . organic oils smudging your finish.”

“You gave and order and I followed it out. What kind of second in command would I be if I couldn’t capture a simple fleshling?”

Suddenly you’re plucked from Knock Out’s grasp by a pair of sharper, thin fingers that more resembled talons. You stare into a the face of another giant alien robot. 

You find out that your captor is a lying  _fuck._


	6. the stars will scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is lesbian-windblade

Knock Out might be (an attractive) lying fuck, but you find you much prefer him to the grey flier that’s currently the only thing stopping you from plummeting 25 feet to the hard metal floor. You just know he’s the one running the show around here. He reminds you of a man who you went to high school with - a thin man who often stuck to the shadows and sold drugs to the new kids for exorbitant prices. And while you doubt this guy sells drugs to wide eyed ninth graders, he’s probably up to all kinds of shady shit.

“Yes, you will make an excellent hostage - “ your first thought is  _dick_ and your second is  _pompous asshole_  “ - you can call me Lord Starscream.”

You don’t say anything. You just clench your jaw and glare straight into his red optics will every bit of defiance and righteous anger you can will together. A ‘go fuck yourself,’ hovers on the tip of your tongue but you swallow it down.

“Of course, Lord Starscream,” your voice isn’t sarcastic at  _all_.

Starscream returns you to Knock Out and you’re carried out of the bridge and into a hall the width of a highway. 

“Where to, nurse?”


End file.
